Dirty Distraction

Athena kept trying. First the homework excuse, the theatre plans that always left her standing in the hall. Then the shorts—cut high, riding up each cheek like they were stitched for sin. She pressed past Cherie in the kitchen, that bare skin brushing her step-mom’s ass, just heat and a whispered “oops.” On the couch she dropped down close, fingers tracing the damp line of her panties while Cherie never glanced up from her page. Later, book in hand, stretched across the bed, Cherie saw her come in again. Athena turned, hips low, shorts riding higher, then shook her ass in short, dirty twerks that made the fabric slide between her cheeks. Cherie sat up, grabbed her wrist, eyes sharp now. “Talk to me.” Athena spoke fast. Felt invisible. Needed touch. Cherie’s arms wrapped around her, the swell of heavy breasts an inch from Athena’s mouth. Fingers combed through her hair. “Then tell me what you need,” Cherie whispered. No candy, no playground. Something older. Athena nodded and Cherie kissed her, tongue slow, deliberate, tasting the want. Her shirt slid off. Athena latched onto a nipple, sucking until it peaked against her tongue. Cherie’s palm pressed between parted thighs, slipped under cotton, found wetness and stroked her open. Every lazy circle said the same thing: you’re mine, baby, and tonight nothing else matters.